


The Fire Within

by ritsuko



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Doggy Style, Gay Sex, Loud Sex, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Rutting, Semi-Public Sex, Service Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Sharing a Bed, Teasing, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), sometimes a witcher just wants to get dicked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23238334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: For as much of a big bad Witcher that Geralt is, there's something that only Jaskier can help him with.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 565





	The Fire Within

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted smut and a flirty relationship okay? Jas is totally in power in the bedroom. :3
> 
> This fic is based a little bit more on the show than the books or game, though I am familiar with all.

It’s a fire deep within him, one that cannot be quenched. 

“Nnnf, fuck Geralt, you’re so good, so fucking good!” Jaskier pants, cock already half buried in the larger man. The head of the bard’s erection brushes over a sensitive spot and the Witcher nearly mewls his pleasure. “Ah yes, you love that don’t you? Such a good boy.” Jaskier croons, screwing his way harder and tighter into Geralt’s eager body. 

Of course, they hadn’t started out like this. The bard would fuck anything that looked at him sideways. As long as it was pretty enough. It hadn’t been long after the Witcher had broken Foltest’s daughter’s curse that the bard had met up with Geralt again, following him while he tried to heal at Melitele’s temple. 

It had been irritating, to say the least, watching the younger man chase after the temple initiates, before Nenneke had firmly stated that if the bard was to stay and help Geralt rehabilitate, he had the stay WITH HIM. 

A pouty, randy bard was always mischief-

Geralt groans as the bard’s balls slap against his own, there’s something so intoxicatingly primal about being rutted in this position. Jaskier hums his approval in his ear, hands wrapping around his chest to pluck at his pert, swollen nipples. 

“Jaskier! Fuck!” He moans, and the other man laughs, a musical peal. His fingers continue to lazily circle his swollen nubs as his cock pulses deep within the Witcher. Geralt groans. He wants to be fucked into the blankets, hard, to break the bed, to have to explain the explosion of the straw mattress to the innkeeper in the morning of as something definitely not sexual-

“I’m trying to, greedy. You sucked me in so quickly, I’m going to have to make it really worth your while.” He presses his lips to Geralt's neck, before nibbling and sucking greedily.

Geralt’s eyelids flutter, his fingers clenching into the sheets below him. Gods, but Jaskier knew two things in the world: how to use his fingers, and how to use his tongue. 

Well, three. His cock was not far behind in achievements. 

He’d barely been able to hold back while the bard had used those dexterous fingers, coated in chamomile oil, to work him open. He’d been so aroused from an evening in the corner, watching the other man’s skilled fingers caress his lute strings and cast longing glances in his direction at certain points in raunchy songs. 

Jaskier could have had any other person in the inn, but he always chose the Witcher. Slowly, he pulls back and rocks into the heat of Geralt’s body and it feels divine. The oil within him has heated, slicking his passage enough that it isn’t uncomfortable, but the drag and burn of cock inside him is building to something he usually only feels in the midst of battle. The rush of adrenaline. 

Maybe it’s being dominated. Maybe it’s being pinned down and claimed. The flare of predator and prey.

All Geralt knows is that getting fucked gets him harder than any other sexual experience he’s ever had. 

It’s not that Jaskier has been his only partner, but he has been the one who has been around the longest. The one who doesn’t stop traveling with him. Even when he goes home to Kaer Morhen to bide the Winter, there's always the knowledge that come Spring, each wolf is on his own.

Every time he runs into the bard on the path and the other man stays at his side, it makes him feel needed. Jaskier, the strange little human that runs towards him when all other shirk away. The one that makes him feel wanted. 

“Aaaah!” he cries out, as one of the other man’s hands snakes down to curl around the base of his erection. He's so hard, pent up from an earlier hunt that has him still high off of the effects of doses of Tawny Owl and Thunderbolt. 

Not that the bard ever complains about his stamina.

Jaskier hums his satisfaction in the Witcher’s ear. “Mmm, you’re so fucking hard aren’t you? It's not just those potions you guzzle is it? So turned on by my cock in you. My strong, stoic Witcher, split open like a Novigrad whore, and begging for more.”

Geralt’s eyes roll back in his head. Fuck, the bard knows exactly what to say. He can feel himself leaking, precum dribbling down his shaft with each thrust into his body. The bard’s grip tightens, effectively keeping him hot and hard. 

“Jask-“ he groans, back arching. The bard laughs lightly, drawing himself up so he is holding tightly to the other man’s hip. Those calloused fingers dig into flesh, and the Witcher’s eyelids flutter, as he’s effectively pinned in place. 

“You love this don’t you? Getting rutted on all fours,” Jaskier pulls his cock nearly all the way out before slamming back in to the hilt. The bard's legs slap lewdly against the back of the Witcher's own, tempo increasing to a vibrant march. Geralt’s breath hitches as the bard’s fingers work along his cock, stroking from root to tip in time with his thrusts. He can hear a reedy whine somewhere in the room, and it takes him a moment to realize that the sound is coming from himself. “Yes, that’s right my wolf, my good boy. You can howl for me.”

The moan that slips past his lips is so heady, so wanton, that he almost can’t believe that a sound like that is coming from him. 

Jaskier's hips jerk, and he stills for a moment. Geralt cries desperately. 

"Jas-"

"Hush."

It's then he can hear it. A man and a woman beyond the door, whispering in low tones.

"You've got to say somethin', Richard, that rough 'un, he's brutalizing that poor boy!" Comes a woman's panicked whisper, and followed shortly by a man grumbling.

"It ain't none o' our business, Gretta, they paid their coin, let them do whatever it is they're doing."

Jaskier laughs lowly, and Geralt bites his lip. Fucking humans, why did they have to be so nosy? All he wants is to get fucked-

That strong hand pulls at him again, and flustered he turns. Jaskier looks like a cat toying with a mouse, a greedy little smile playing on his lips.

_Oh. Oh FUCK._

There's more hushed whispering outside the door, but Geralt can barely hear what's being said over his own low keening. He can't help it; the moans just keep tumbling from his mouth. 

Suddenly there's a knock on the door. Jaskier's hand stills again, and Geralt lets out a frustrated groan. Really, he's going to snap the damn man's head off if he doesn't leave them alone.

"Say something." Jaskier whispers, throatier than usual. Another glance confirms that the bard's eyes are lidded with lust, full lips parted in a cocky smile. 

"What is it?" Geralt growls, cock twitching under those fingers.

"Good sir," he hears the innkeeper shuffle lightly outside, "Is everything okay in there?"

Before he can answer, Jaskier pumps his cock once, and a strangled noise comes from him. "Why. . . why wouldn't it be?" He manages, voice only breaking once before getting the sentence out. 

"Well, Witcher, it seems, well. . ." the man stutters, and Jaskier takes advantage of the moment to stroke him root to tip again. Geralt can't keep himself from crying out at the sensation.

"What are ye doin' to that poor bard in there?" He can hear the woman screech on the other side of the door. "I watched ye starin' at him all night! And now it soun's like ye're killin 'im!"

Geralt can't answer, he's biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. What the fuck did Jaskier think he was doing? The bards fingers are kneading his ass, pulling one cheek to the side and practically purring to himself as he starts to rock slowly again into the heat of Geralt's body.

He has to answer.

"Le-leave us be." The Witcher stutters, trying to sound demanding but coming off entirely too passive. Like he's hiding something. He can hear more bickering between the couple, but try as he might, he can't focus. Jaskier's damned hands are working him hard and fast, hips snapping hard into the Witcher's hole. "Fuck, Jaskier, I'm going to-" He moans softly.

"Better come, Geralt, unless you want them to come in to see me rutting you like this." Jaskier warns, and it's so hot, so fucking dirty, that he can't help himself.

"Ohhhhh! Fuck!" He can't help how loud he is, the words just spill from his lips. He can feel the heat start to build, his balls start to clench-

There's the sound of a key in the door-

FUCK-

Geralt howls as he comes, and Jaskier's tempo becomes a sharp staccato. Stars dance behind his eyelids as he feels his lover's seed flood his insides, even as the Bard continues to pump him through his orgasm.

Panting, he collapses, belly coated in a sticky puddle of his cum pooled underneath him. With a contented sigh, Jaskier collapses on top of him, cock slowly softening within him. There's something still erotic about it, and the Witcher loves the feel of connection.

He feels fuzzy, good. But he's forgetting something. . . what?

The door bursts open, the innkeeper's wife screaming something about 'Poor Master Jaskier's livelihood', while wielding a cast iron pan. She pales, staring. He husband bumps into her from behind. 

Geralt is still breathing heavily. He wants to move but, reason has fled for the moment. Instead he groans and hides his face in the pillows.

On the other hand, Jaskier smiles beatifically at her. "Lady Greta, my sincerest apologies for the noise, as you can see, we are quite finished for the time being. But really, if we may have our privacy? Master Witcher here gets rather shy-"

The innkeeper apologizes profusely. "Won't happen again, sirs, just, ah, come on, Greta!" He hisses, pulling the woman out by the skirts. The door slams, and Jaskier nearly screams with laughter.

Geralt groans even louder. "We can never stay here again." He grumbles, voice muffled through the pillow. 

The bard manages to slip out of him. The absence is disconcerting, but then Geralt can feel a moist rag after a few moments, wiping down over his buttocks. Soft fingertips trail over his spine. It's all very comforting, and he leans into Jaskier's touch.

"You know, you may not blush as much in your face, but you get all nice and red between your shoulder blades when you're embarrassed." The bard states glibly, and Geralt stills.

Jaskier laughs when Geralt throws one of the pillows at him.

It may be the last time in this inn, but it definitely won't be the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm orcbae on twitter, tumblr, instagram. . . gimme a follow!
> 
> Also, please comment if you enjoyed it!


End file.
